The World Ahead
by FreeElves
Summary: Like the dwarves, she wanted nothing more than to go home. Unfortunately, it seems her home is impossible to return to, and there are forces in Middle Earth that are intent on keeping her there. Rated for language and violence.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I don't own Hobbit, any of its settings or characters. The original work belongs to JRR Tolkien. Adaptations in the movie belong to Peter Jackson. I only own my OC.**

* * *

She knew before opening her eyes that something was terribly wrong.

This was not her apartment. She could see the light though her eyelids. Normally, her thick curtains would have been able to keep her room dark at any hour of the day. The ground was hard and rough, the complete opposite of her soft, fluffy bed. Finally, the sounds of leaves rustling and birds chirping filled the air. These sounds could not come from her neighborhood, especially since the only tree on the block was a pathetic twig planted in front of her building and the only birds that populated that area were pigeons, which only made annoying cooing instead of the pleasant and melodic twittering she was hearing.

As pleasant as it was—being woken up be the sounds of nature, that is—she felt her heart leap in her throat as she sat up quickly and looked around the small meadow that was bordered by intimidating forest. Her mind went through any possibilities that would explain her sudden appearance in the middle of nowhere. Kidnapping? Cruel joke? Dream?

It had to be a dream. Why would someone go through the trouble of kidnapping a nobody, knocking them out, and dumping them in the woods, away from any civilization? And she couldn't see any of her friends even think about attempting to pull something like this off. They weren't that huge of assholes. It had to be a dream, but at the same time, it couldn't. She felt a chill run down her spine when she realized how completely real everything looked, sounded, and felt. The fact that she was even thinking about this should be a tip that this couldn't be a dream.

Dream or not, she knew she couldn't sit in this meadow forever. Looking to the sun, she figured it must still be relatively early in the day, maybe around ten or eleven in the morning, if dream mechanics functioned like regular world mechanics. She needed to find civilization, or at least a sign pointing her in the right direction. However, looking around the meadow once more, she found she didn't know where to start. She had no clue where she was, so she couldn't pick a direction and know that was the way to go. She would have to resign to wandering around, praying that she found a stream or, even better, a road, and hope that she had remembered enough of the survival training she received from her father to not die in the wilderness.

She swallowed, realizing how dry her mouth was. Sweat was forming and soaking into her shirt as the sun beat down on her back. Perhaps water should be her first priority.

The sun was setting and she had gone through the day without finding anything-no roads and no water. After leaving the meadow, she climbed one of the trees, with difficulty due to her small stature, to get a better bearing of where she was. There were mountains to the east: a magnificent range of snow capped peaks that scraped the sky. She looked at them in awe and confusion; there were no mountains anywhere near where she lived. Their appearance only made her feel more lost. She climbed down from the tree and headed north, finding herself stuck in thick brush and thanking whoever that she had at least ended up here wearing at least somewhat practical clothing consisting of a light jacket, jeans, and comfortable boots. The bushes and undergrowth were caught in the denim and in her laces as she forced her way through the forest, but at least it was preferable to being stuck here barefoot and in her pajamas.

She was exhausted and moderately dehydrated, but she had no choice but to stop and continue her search in the morning when there was light. For now, she would rest. Perhaps she would wake up in her own bed, but the soreness in her body and aching in her head drove it in that this was all real. As she was about to settle on the ground against a rock, which provided a little shelter, a wolf howl sounded in the distance, and she all but jumped into a nearby tree, scrambling up to some higher branches that would serve as her new, and even less comfortable, bed. However, she would rather not have any run-ins with any of the native wildlife.

As if she was going to get any sleep in the first place. Worries plagued her mind. Where was she? Would she be able to find her way home? Did anyone know she was missing? She hoped her mother would realize something amiss when she tried to contact her tonight. Maybe she would call the police, and they would send search parties. Maybe they would find her before she succumbed to starvation or dehydration. Then she would see her mother, hug her tight, never letting go, and apologize for all the times she had been difficult and troublesome and annoying...

But, how would they even find her, since she was obviously no where near her home?

She took a deep breath, stopping herself from crying. She couldn't think about this right now. She had to focus on surviving. Once she survived, then she could cry all she wanted.

* * *

She woke with the sunrise from a restless sleep. The noises of the forest at night unnerved her and it was difficult trying to make herself comfortable on the branches. She was also painfully aware of how hungry she was getting, having not eaten anything in at least a day. Stomach growling and still tired, she carefully descended from her treetop shelter, stretching and rubbing her sore muscles once she reached the ground. She stepped through a brush and her jeans became wet with dew. Kneeling down by the bush, she examined the leaves and saw the little droplets of water.

Sucking the dew off of the leaves gave her little relief. It wasn't enough water, and without a container of some sort, she didn't have anyway of collecting it for the rest of the day. It would, however, have to suffice, since she had not found any other sources of water.

She went to different bushes and drank up as much dew as she could, avoiding the plants that looked suspiciously similar to poison oak and poison ivy. By the time it reached mid-morning, the sun had evaporated whatever water remained on the leaves, and she was forced to move on.

She trudged through the forest, still going north, only guided the position of the sun through the canopy of leaves above her. She rubbed her belly, trying to soothe the pain in her stomach. She didn't want to take her chances with the mystery berries she came across during her trek, not knowing whether they were safe, or poisonous. Her stomach let out an angry growl. What she would give for something to eat, anything to eat. She would bend over backwards even for some stale cereal or a can of green beans.

Something caught her eye on the forest floor, and she dropped to the ground to study the small plants with tiny, red, plump berries.

They looked like strawberries, smelled like strawberries, and she knew that strawberries had no poisonous lookalikes. She picked one and plopped it in her mouth, letting out a pleased sigh as the sweet juice tickled her taste buds. She gathered more, eating some and placing the rest in her jacket pockets. The small plants were numerous, but she hoped it would last until she found a town or a person or something that could help her. She still mentally celebrated her find.

* * *

One her third morning, she climbed down from a tree. She repeated her dew drinking ritual and ate the last of the strawberries. She was exhausted and starving. The strawberries barely took the edge off of her lightheadedness. She considered going back for more, but wondered if she'd be able to find them again. They were at least a day behind her, and her trail was not a straight one; she had to scramble over boulders and go around impassible clusters of trees and brush. There was also too much of a risk of wasting what remaining energy in trying to double back. She spent most of the day stumbling along, most of her determination gone. She had been able to force open some pinecones to get the nuts, which was fortunate.

What would her mother being thinking, seeing her hunched over, breaking open a pinecone for some seeds?

She smirked. The poor woman would have a heart attack from seeing her only daughter in such deplorable conditions. The smile slipped from her lips. She never realized how much she could miss her mother.

She whipped around at the sound of a twig snapping, mentally preparing for a wolf or a bear to leap out and attack her, ending her endless trek through the wilderness.

It wasn't a wolf or a bear; it was a man. He was dressed in a worn cloak, that looked like it had been black at one point in time, an odd wardrobe choice, but one that she didn't question now. His hair was disheveled and light brown and his jaw was dusted with fine stubble. If the scenario had been any different, she would have swooned at his ruggedly handsome looks.

She almost felt like crying; finally, a person. Instead, she croaked out, "Are you real?"

His look of surprise shifted as his brow furrowed and he looked at her worriedly. He replied, "Of course, I am real."

She approached cautiously, reaching a hand out to touch his cloak. She had to be sure he wasn't a figment of her imagination. Four days of being lost and on her own made her incredibly desperate for human contact and she feared she was starting to see things. The fabric was rough and dirty, but it was real. She let out a cry and wrapped her arms around the man's torso, much to his surprise. He stumbled at the sudden contact, but once he regained composure, he awkwardly patted her back as she cried into his chest.

She let go, stepping away from him. "I'm sorry," she said, reigning in her sobs. "It's just…I'm lost and I've been out here for days and I thought I was going to die alone in this goddamn forest."

He reached out and placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "You are not alone anymore. What is your name?"

She felt relief fill her. He was so kind. "Mirela."

He introduced himself as Robert, a hunter. He led her to his camp as he explained that he and his brother (Damian) sold meat and animal skins in the village of Bree.

"What state are we in?" she asked, seated by the fire as Damian cooked dinner. The man was bigger and burlier compared to Robert, who was tall and lean. He also looked older and like he had seen his fair share of fights. His face was riddled with scars and carried a permanent frown. The man was terrifying, so she settled with passing him uneasy smiles and only addressed Robert. Damian didn't seem like the talking type, anyway.

Robert gave her an odd look. "Pardon?"

She sighed. "Look, I get that you guys are LARPing or whatever and don't want to break character, but I'm lost and I really need to get home. Where are we, seriously?"

Robert raised an eyebrow and shot his brother a questioning look. Damian shrugged and went back to skinning a rabbit.

"We are a two days journey west of Bree-land," Robert finally answered. "Where is your home, Mirela?"

"I'm from New York," she said, desperate for them to stop this game and give her useful information.

"In all of our travels, we have never encountered a realm of that name."

Mirela groaned. "It's not a realm, it's a state! More specifically, it's the name of a city." She wished they would stop looking at her like she had grown a second head and started speaking an alien tongue. Of all the people she could have run in to lost in the wilderness, it had to be a pair of extremely devoted LARPers.

"We can take you to Bree," Robert said. "Perhaps there you will find someone who has heard of this 'New York'." His tone of voice betrayed his skepticism.

She was about to snap at them, repeat that she had been lost in the woods for days without food, water, or supplies, had no clue where she was, and that they should be decent human beings and help her out instead of playing their stupid game, but she didn't. She doubted it would have changed anything, except make them think that she was ungrateful and insane. They were already giving her food, water, and company. Hopefully 'Bree' wasn't too far away and there were people there that could point her in the direction of the nearest payphone.

Damian handed her a stick with a chunk of cooked rabbit meat. Normally, she would have reservations about eating anything that resembled Peter Cottontail, but the smell of meat was so overwhelming she could care less what animal it came from. She tore into it, barely taking the time to chew and not caring whether or not she looked lady-like doing so. Robert smiled and handed her a piece of hard, dry bread, which was less tasty than the meat, but equally satisfying. She downed that as soon as she finished the rabbit, taking large gulps from a waterskin to help wash down the food. Robert entertained her with stories from his childhood and many journeys. She silently commended him for creating such depth in his character.

After dinner, Robert set up a bedroll for her, despite her protests that he wouldn't have anything to sleep on. He insisted. Once she realized how comfortable it was compared to tree branches, she stopped arguing and fell into the most restful sleep she had since arriving in this place. Despite their oddities, she felt secure in their presence, and from what they told her, the village of Bree was only a few days away. Only a few days more, and she could be on a train, bus, car, or plane home.

* * *

Mirela woke up sometime in the middle of the night. She heard shuffling as one of the brothers roused to other to take watch. She questioned the practice earlier, wondering why it was needed. Robert explained that there were all sorts of nasty animals and people that prey on travelers. Keeping at least one person on watch allowed them to be alerted of oncoming danger. She accepted it, deciding to let them do what they wanted with their weird game.

Damian had taken the first watch while she and Robert slept. She heard Robert groan and shift on his bedroll before sitting up. They began speaking to each other, using lowered voices so as not to wake her. She tried to ignore their mutterings and go back to sleep until one part of their conversation caught her attention.

"The girl's cracked," Damian said. She frowned. Even when they thought she was asleep, they had to remain in character.

"Yes, but women tend to be an eccentric lot," Robert said. "Besides, those things do not concern Kurt. She will serve her purpose and we will become rich men."

There was silence following Robert's statement. Mirela did not understand what they were talking about. Who was Kurt? She felt a twinge of dread in her gut. She did not like where this was going.

"Are you having reservations about this now, brother?" Robert asked. "Fortune has smiled upon us. She comes with us willingly. Or were you hoping to steal a farm girl away from her home in the dead of night?"

This had to be another part of the game. These two could not be human traffickers. It was all a joke. A terrible, tasteless joke. She struggled to keep her breathing slow and steady, so they would not find out she was eavesdropping on their conversation.

"Keep quiet," Damian warned.

Robert chuckled. "She will not wake. The poor thing is exhausted, and I gave her chamomile to help her sleep soundly." He continued, "She is easy money. No one will be looking for her. Did you hear what she was rambling about? You are right about one thing, Damian: she is cracked. Her family must have run her out of their home, unable to deal with eccentricities."

Damian replied, though hesitantly, "You're right."

"Of course I am. Now get some sleep, brother. Our journey is not over yet."

Damian shuffled to his bedroll and there was silence for several minutes until he began snoring softly.

Mirela stayed still on the bedroll, unable to move with Robert only a few feet away keeping watch. She still couldn't believe what she had just heard. Any sense of security she had with them went out the window. She had to find a way to escape.

* * *

**I have a weakness for girl-falls-into-Middle Earth. Some people might hate them, but I love them, because they take a person and thrust them in extraordinary circumstances that they don't know how to deal with and it's kind of fun to watch them develop.**

**Anyway, let me know your thoughts and feelings about Mirela and this chapter. **


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: Don't own Hobbit. **

* * *

Mirela did not sleep for the rest of the night, no matter how much she tried. Her mind was working over what she had heard. Part of her was afraid of what was going to happen once they reached Bree and part of her was still in denial about the whole thing. These men were role-playing medieval human traffickers, she tried to convince herself. It wasn't real. However, the level of seriousness in their conversation last night made her doubt this claim.

Regardless, she wanted to get as far away from them as possible.

_The next time Eric tries to take me to the renaissance festival, my answer's going to be a flat-out no_, she thought.

She spent some of the night formulating plans for escape. Fighting either of them was not an option. Both men towered over her. Robert probably had to have at least 60 or 70 pounds on her, and Damian was even larger. They were both armed with knives and swords, which, even if they weren't skilled with them, still put them at a large advantage over her if they decided to use them. Running was an option, but they also probably knew the forest better than her. Maybe if they led her to a road, she could ditch them and get to this Bree place by herself. But they were headed to Bree, also, and would be able to catch up to her on the road. The only advantage she had was that both men still thought she was ignorant of their plans.

She nearly jumped when Robert put his hand on her shoulder, gently shaking to rouse her from her pretend slumber.

"Mirela," he said softly, "we will be leaving soon. Get up so you can eat breakfast."

Robert had seemed too kind and gentle to be so malicious. She reminded herself that this was all an act, using his charm to reel her in.

She sat up, rubbing her eyes and yawning. "Breakfast?" she asked.

"It is only some bread and dried meat," he replied. "You will need your strength for the journey."

Breakfast, while filling enough, did nothing to dispel the pit in her stomach. She had significantly more energy than she had before and, despite not sleeping well, she was too anxious to feel tired.

Their journey went westward, but the men did not follow a road. Robert said they preferred cross-country, where there were less people and it was more peaceful. Mirela figured they probably didn't want to get caught doing anything illegal, like kidnapping poor lost girls.

A few hours into the trek, Mirela decided now was the time.

"I have to go," she said, stopping suddenly in her tracks, "pee. Really bad." It wasn't her best line, but she couldn't think of anything else to say that wouldn't raise their suspicion. They thought she was odd already, anyway.

Both men wore shocked expressions at her bluntness, but quickly shook it off.

"Do you need accompaniment?" Robert asked.

"No. I'll just be behind a tree or bush or something."

"Stay within earshot. We would not want you getting lost again." He grinned.

She forced a short, nervous laugh. "Yeah. Don't worry. I think I can manage finding my way back."

She turned and went into the trees. She walked a short ways until, checking behind her, she saw that the trees partially obscured Robert and Damian. She started running frantically, narrowly avoiding exposed tree roots and rocks that would cause her to stumble or trip. Looking ahead—her heart leapt—she saw a man walking along the road, pulling a pony behind him. _Oh, thank god._

She ran towards him. "Hey," she cried. "Hey! I need help!"

The old man turned around at her pleas. He was dressed in a similar style to Robert and Damian; he wore patched brown trousers and a coat that looked like it was made of animal hide. She ignored the odd clothing, hoping he would be able to get her away from the two men.

"What seems to be the matter, miss?" His voice was gruff and it reminded her of the old man that lived across the hall from her. He was a Vietnam vet, rough around the edges, with a hidden soft spot.

"There's two guys," she said, words tumbling from her lips. She pointed to the woods behind her. "They've kidnapped me and they're crazy. They say they're going to sell me to some guy named Kurt."

The man's eyes widened with shock. "You poor dear," he said. "My home is not far from here. You can hide there until we can get you back to your family."

She was about to thank the old man, but a voice from the woods interrupted. Her heart plummeted into her stomach.

"Darling," Robert called. "There you are! You gave me quite a fright." Damian followed closely behind. The old man looked from Mirela to the two men in confusion.

She tried to run from him, but Robert was quicker. His arms came around her middle and kept her in place. She struggled against him. "Let go of me!"

"Thank you, sir, for finding my wife," Robert said, unfazed by her kicking and screaming.

"Your wife?" the old man asked, perplexed. "She told me she was kidnapped and you had some unsavory plans for her."

Robert looked down at the woman in his arms, still trying to get loose. "Is that so?" The old man nodded. "Well, sir, I am going to have to apologize for her behavior."

The old man nodded and tilted his head down to glare at Mirela. He did not take kindly to lying women.

"No," she pleaded. "He's lying. Please, you have to help me!" There was no way this was happening. _Why doesn't he believe me?_

"You will have to forgive her," Robert said, passing her off to Damian, who held both her arms in an iron grip. The man began to drag her back into the forest. She screamed as loud as she could and kicked at his legs. "My wife has not been well. Her mother just passed, you see. The death has affected her greatly and I am afraid she has gone a bit mad with grief."

"Oh, I'm terribly sorry," the old man said, deaf to Mirela's cries of "My mother's not dead! She's looking for me!" He continued, "Death is a solemn affair. I wish you both all the best."

Robert smiled. "You are too kind, sir. My only hope is that my wife finds the strength to recover."

With that, he gave the old man a farewell, and retreated into the forest. When she looked past Damian's massive form, she saw a deep frown mar Robert's face. He waited until they were out of earshot of the old man to march in front of her. He grabbed her chin roughly, bringing it close to his face.

"You are making this much harder than it has to be," he growled.

* * *

They set camp for the night in a clearing about a hundred yards from the road. After leaving the old man, it became obvious to Robert and Damian that Mirela had heard of their plans and the two men made it their priority to prevent anymore incidents by gagging the young woman and binding her wrists. She was thrown over Damian's shoulder, where she kicked wildly, despite it not seeming to affect him. Her screams came out as muffled cries through the gag. He dropped her at the base of a tree, causing her to yelp upon hitting the hard ground, and went to gather firewood. She glared at his back as he walked away.

Robert approached her with a waterskin. "Do not scream or I will cut out your tongue," he warned her. He loosened the gag, letting it fall around her neck, and pressed the opening of the waterskin to her lips.

When he withdrew it, she spat the water into his face. She could see his last line of patience snap as he boiled with rage. She smirked as water dripped from his hair and face. She wasn't going to be a docile or easy hostage—that much was for sure. The feeling was short lived as he lifted his hand and struck her hard across the face.

"I hope you are pleased," he said, drying himself with part of his cloak. "That was the only water you were getting for the rest of this little journey."

"You won't get away with this, you son of a bitch," she spat. "My family's looking for me!"

"Yes, yes. So I have heard." He stuffed the gag back in her mouth and sidestepped quickly to avoid the kicks she sent his way.

Damian returned with the wood and began working on building the fire. He already found some good twigs and branches around the clearing to get the fire started.

Robert grabbed his bow and quiver. "Watch her," he commanded. "I will get us some supper."

As if she'd get far with her hands tied behind her back.

The other brother worked silently, focusing solely on the fire. It seemed as if he was completely ignoring, until she noticed his eyes flicker in her direction every time she shifted her body weight or groaned against the gag. Those were the only glances he sent her and she tried harder to get his attention. She remembered Damian having doubts about this plan. Perhaps he could have a change of heart and free her.

It didn't seem likely. He made no indication that he saw the pleading looks she sent him, and if he did, they didn't seem to affect him. He was not going to go against his brother.

Night had fallen by the time Robert had returned empty handed. "Bread and dried meat tonight," he announced, setting his bow down with the rest of his things. The fire was lit and roaring. Mirela was sitting silently, face hidden by dark curls. She felt defeated and hopeless. There was no way she would be able to escape bound and gagged.

"Damian," Robert said. "There is a chill in the air—fetch us more firewood. We do not want our girl freezing to death."

Damian stood and disappeared into the dark forest. For a few moments, the only sounds were the chirps of crickets, the crackling of the fire, and the fading noises from the man stepping through the leaves and grass and snapping twigs. Mirela looked up when she heard Robert stand and approach her. She pressed her back against the trunk of the tree, stiffening as he knelt beside her.

"If you promise to behave, I will cut the ropes," he said. She thought he was mocking her at first, but his eyes were serious. She nodded. He whipped out his knife, but before freeing her hands, he brought it close to her face. "If you try to run, or fight, I will carve into that pretty face of yours." His threat was punctuated when he pressed the blade to her cheek, applying only enough pressure so that she felt the bite of the metal. She eyed him fearfully. Satisfied that she wouldn't try anything, he removed the blade and cut her bonds. He brought his hand up to her face and gently wiped away the few drops of blood that formed on her cheek. She glared at him and rubbed her wrists; the rope had made deep, angry, red impressions in her skin.

"Why are you doing this?" she asked.

"Kurt likes his women unharmed," Robert answered, evading her actual question. "Unfortunately for him—and my brother and I, too, I suppose, since we are paid based on the quality of the product—you are proving to be more trouble than you are worth. But as long as you are good girl, no harm will come to you."

Mirela stared into the fire, feeling tears well in her eyes. She was lost with two insane men, in a place where people thought she was the lying, crazy one. She was going to be sold for their sick game and there was nothing she could do about it.

_What did I do to deserve this?_

She inched closer to the warmth of the fire, imagining she was back in her grandparent's winter cabin, curled up with her brothers by the fire while snow fell slow and silent in the night.

"Do not cry, Mirela," Robert said. She began to hate the way her name sounded when it left his lips. He said it with mock sympathy, in the same way he might have said 'girl' or 'dear', like it didn't matter to him that he was hurting her, a real person with a family and a life and a shit job that she hated but it paid the bills well enough… "You might be lucky. After all, you are rather pretty. A prince or rich lord might take a liking to you, make you his courtesan, and you could live a luxurious life in his castle." His lips curved into a cruel smile and he suppressed a chuckle. He was mocking her.

And it made burning anger rise in her chest. Forgetting her brothers and the cabin, she grabbed a smoldering log from the fire and, gripping it by its non-burnt end, she threw it at Robert. He tried to block it, but the log broke against his arm, sending hot embers into his face and all over the front of his cloak. He let out a pained yell while Mirela turned around and launched herself into the trees.

She ran as fast as she could, trying her best to dodge the trees and rocks in her path. Behind her, back at the camp, she could hear Damian run toward the commotion and rush to his brother's side.

"Robert?" he said.

"Get me a torch. She ran that way," he groaned, wiping the embers from his face.

Her lungs were screaming at her to stop. Her heart was beating fast and so hard, she could feel it in her chest. She glanced behind her, seeing the light of two torches, one for each brother, approaching her. Terrified for her life, she stopped and all but dived into a thicket, the nearest hiding spot. The sharp twigs cut through her clothes and into her skin. She covered her mouth to silence her breathing as they drew near.

"Find her," Robert demanded. "Find her and bring her to me. I am going to gut the little bitch."

She could hear footsteps nearby and she could see the light from the torch creating flickering shadows in the ground before her. The owner stopped near her hiding spot and she clenched her eyes shut and silently prayed. It felt like hours before they finally passed over her and she let out a breath she didn't know she was holding. She waited until the torch disappeared before slowly crawling out of thicket. She walked quickly, but carefully, avoiding stepping on twigs or dry leaves. Looking over her shoulder, she scanned the area behind her. No sign of the brothers anywhere nearby. There was only one torch, twinkling in the distance, getting farther and farther away.

_Where is the other one?_

Out of her periphery, she saw a shadow leap toward her. Jumping away to dodge it, she tripped over an exposed root and fell backward.

"There you are," Robert said. "What have I told you about running off like that?" He walked toward her slowly and all she could think of was how he reminded her of a lion going in for the kill.

She scrambled up as he made a move to grab her. She dodged him again and tried to run, but his hand shot out to form a tight grip on her arm. He threw her body into a tree. Her head cracked against the woods and the bark scraped her hands and cheek. He grabbed her again. A knife in his hand glinted in the moonlight.

Thrashing against him, Mirela randomly punched and kicked with her free limbs, landing a blow to his face and stomach. He momentarily loosened his grip on her, allowing her to break free. He quickly recovered, however, and tackled her to the ground. Her body struggled to free itself, but he had her trapped with his legs on either side of her. He lifted the knife high above her, her eyes glued to the blade. Her heart thudded in her chest. Her hands gripped the earth and her fingers touched a loose rock. Before he brought it down, she twisted her body as much as she could and knocked his arm off its path. The blade struck the ground mere inches from her. With the rock in hand, she quickly swung it toward his head. The blow connected and left him dazed. She hit him again and he fell.

She crawled out from under him, still armed with the rock, waiting for him to attack her again. But he didn't move. He lay still on the ground, blood seeping from the head wound and soaking into the earth. Her jaw dropped open in shock, but she didn't have time to think about what she had just done. When she heard Damian's hurried footsteps approaching, she dropped the rock and hid.

She slipped her small form into a hollow created by large tree roots and dirt that had been washed away long ago.

Damian approached the body of his brother, lighting the area with his torch. "Robert?" he said, kneeling next to him. He touched his brother's shoulder, gently shaking. "Robert," he repeated, more forcefully. He finally noticed the gash on his temple and fell silent.

It was the silence that followed that scared Mirela the most. There was no crying or yelling swears or threats into the night. Just silence. She could not fathom what Damian was going to do when he found her, whether he would strangle her or crush her with his massive hands or do something worse. She held back a shudder.

The light from the torch began to move and she held her breath again, squeezing farther into the hollow. It gradually faded and when the area returned to darkness, she breathed again. She waited and waited before peaking out of her hiding spot. Robert's body was still there and the light from Damian's torch drifted father away as he headed in the opposite direction.

Mirela did not hesitate any longer; she turned and ran, trying to put as much distance between her and Damian as possible.

She didn't know how long or far she had run, only that she ran until she couldn't anymore. She finally collapsed, gasping for breath. She was unable to move any farther and black spots were forming in the edges of her vision.

Then darkness took her.

* * *

**Chapter 2! This was a thrill to write. I stayed up all night cranking this out, because I had to get it down. I found out action is not as easy to write as I thought. It's easy to visualize, but putting it down in words without sounding too repetitive or confusing was a bit of a challenge.**

**Anyway, enjoy and let me know what you think.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I only own Mirela and any characters that do no appear in the works of Tolkien or Peter Jackson.**

* * *

_She is running, flying through the trees and over rivers. Everything she passes becomes a blur of greens, browns, and grays. An opening lies ahead, a blinding light illuminating her path. She is home free._

_Black tendrils enter her vision, closing in around her. She tries to avoid them, but one hooks itself around her leg and pulls. She falls to the ground. Looking ahead, she sees the light move farther and farther away. She tries to get back up again, but the shadows hold her down. The more she struggles against them, the more they wrap around her arms and legs, dragging her backwards into darkness._

_She looks over her shoulders and sees Robert. His face is pale and disfigured. He wears a cruel smile and reaches a ghostly white hand toward her._

_She screams as the darkness engulfs her._

Mirela's eyes shot open and her breaths came out as quick, ragged puffs as she stared up through leaves at the blue cloudless sky. It took her a few seconds to realize it was only a dream. She took a few deep breaths to slow her racing heart and let a feeling of relief wash over her. She lifted her arms above her to see rope-shaped bruises on her wrists, scrapes down her arms, and cuts across her knuckles.

_If only everything had been a dream_, she thought, the events of last night coming back to her. She felt a sudden bought of nausea and tears in her eyes when she remembered what she did; she had killed someone. It felt like there was a permanent stain on her, no matter what she told herself to justify it. It replayed in her head, from the moment Robert was on top of her to the moment she brought the rock down on his skull a second time. She rolled on to her side, wishing this nightmare could end and she could wake up in her own bed, in her own home and not on a smelly, rough bedroll…

Wait…_bedroll? _

_No…_

She was caught again. Terrified, she anticipated rolling over and facing the furious, scarred brother.

"Lassie? Are you finally awake?"

At the sound of the voice and the footsteps approaching her, she stood up with more swiftness than she would have expected, but instantly regretted it. Pain shot up her legs. They were stiff and sore from her sprinting away from danger and she was wobbling and unstable from exhaustion.

The first thing she noticed about the man before her, besides his thick accent that sounded a little Scottish, was his size. He could not have been any taller than she was. He had a stocky build that was widened by his thick, layered tunic. He was also sporting a peculiar hat and hairstyle with braided pigtails curved upward like Pippi Longstocking's.

She was relieved he wasn't Damian, but she refused to put her guard down. He took a small step toward her with his massive feet.

"Get away from me," she warned, voice hoarse and weak. She backed away until she hit the trunk of a tree. "I mean it. Don't come any closer."

He gave her a gentle smile and lifted his arms to show he was unarmed, trying to calm her. "I'm not going to hurt you." She still didn't trust him, not after everything she had been through since waking up in this strange place.

Soon more little men began appearing through the trees to investigate. They were all approximately the same size and shape as Scottish Pippi Longstockings, but each was distinguishable by their very unique appearance. Almost all of them possessed, a thought that would come to her much later, very impressive, different, and large beards. They stared at her with varying degrees of curiosity and suspicion. Some brandished their weapons, ready to use them.

She eyed their weapons fearfully, which were equally as strange as the men themselves: large swords, axes, hammers…was that a slingshot? Was everyone here armed with medieval weaponry? She began to think that she was a lot farther from home than she originally thought.

"Who are you?" she asked, trying not to sound scared shitless, but her voice still came out raspy and did not carry the volume that she wanted. "Actually, better question: what are you?"

"I'm Bofur and we're dwarves, of course." He titled his head slightly, confusion evident on his face, like it should have been completely obvious to her that these men were dwarves.

_What the hell…dwarves? Like mining, fantasy dwarves? I've gone completely insane._

There was a murmur through the small crowd of…dwarves. It was a mixture of shock and confusion, much like what Mirela was experiencing, only targeted toward her. _How has she never heard of dwarves before? Poor lass has gone and lost it._

"Enough of this," ordered a deep, booming voice. Mirela looked up as one of the dwarf men stepped forward and strode passed Bofur, stopping only a few feet away from her. It was much closer than she was comfortable with. "Who are you and what are you doing alone in these woods?"

He could only be, at the most, an inch or two taller than her, but his presence was as intimidating as Damian's, minus a face covered in scars. He had long black hair, peppered with a few gray strands, and his beard was trimmed shorter than most of the other dwarves'. His face was twisted into a scowl as he surveyed her, looking her up and down to determine if she was a threat. He held himself highly, like royalty, and he could probably cleave her in half with his giant axe if it pleased him to. She pressed herself further into the tree, the bark scraping through the thin material of her jacket.

She was still in shock from learning that the mythical beings from her childhood stories actually existed. As such, the only thing she was able to mutter to the dwarf was: "I—I don't…you're _dwarves_."

The dwarf's eyes narrowed more, if that was even possible. "Answer me."

A tall old man, dressed head to toe in gray robes and sporting a pointed gray hat on his head, came forward. He towered over the tallest dwarf by at least a foot. Looking down at the dwarf, he said, "Thorin, the girl is frightened out of her wits and you are not helping." The old man's voice was rich and deep and made her feel, oddly, a little calmer.

The dwarf, Thorin, turned to the old man, craning his head to meet his eyes. The scene, an angry dwarf staring up at a strangely dressed old man, would have been comical if Mirela hadn't been so terrified.

"I am seeking answers. She could be a spy."

"Hardly a good spy," mused the old man, "since it appears you have already discovered her."

"A criminal, then. Her injuries suggest that she had fought to escape someone."

"Or merely a victim."

The old man and the dwarf continued to bicker. Mirela only caught bits and pieces of their conversation. She was too caught up in her own thoughts.

_Dwarves don't exist. They can't exist. They are FICTIONAL. This is just some really elaborate joke they are all playing. There have to be cameras filming this someplace. Oh, this is just cruel._

She felt herself grow faint and gripped the sides of the tree to steady herself. This place was unbelievable, like a fairytale or a dream, but she knew from the last few days it was too vivid and true to be anything but reality. She sunk to the ground, feeling her chest constricting from panic and her head grow heavy. She felt an awful feeling of dread when she realized she was going to faint again.

* * *

It was Biblo who pointed out that the girl had gone pale. Thorin had Gandalf had stopped arguing and turned their attention back to the tree, where indeed, she was on the ground again, unconscious. He felt a twinge of pity for her. She looked so hopelessly lost and confused. Her scrapes and bruises made it obvious that the last couple of days were not her best. The dwarves, of course, did nothing but intensify her distress.

She was, however, extremely puzzling. (It was Bofur, with his surprisingly keen eyes, who spotted her in the brush after they set off that morning. She had inadvertently put a sudden stop to their journey, one that made Thorin very much displeased. Most of the company didn't see her lying there; the dark green fabric of her jacket blended with the grass and fallen needles.) Her appearance in the woods came as a complete surprise to the company. Bilbo thought humans—if she even was human—were big and tall, much like Gandalf, even though he was a wizard. This girl, however, was small, dwarf-sized but lacking the stout build of a dwarf. Her clothing was also odd—he had never seen material quite like the fabric that made up her trousers—and entirely inappropriate for a girl of her age.

Bilbo even noticed Gandalf's puzzlement when he saw the girl.

She woke up a few minutes later, disoriented. Gandalf helped her sit up against the trunk of the tree. He ushered away the dwarves, demanding that they give her space and room to breath. The dwarves slowly dispersed, looking for things to busy themselves. There was really not much for them to do, since their expedition was on hold, much to their annoyance, except wait until the whole thing with the girl had been sorted out so that they could continue on their journey.

"Who do you think she is?" Ori asked, scribbling wildly in his journal, most likely about the encounter and the strange girl.

"There are farms all around here," replied Kili with a shrug. "She's likely some farmer's daughter."

"She doesn't look like any farmer's daughter I've ever seen," said Fili, taking to time to ensure his knives were sharpened. "Have you seen what she's wearing?"

"I don't think she's ever heard of dwarves before," said Ori, pausing in his writing. "She gave us a funny look and fainted, like she'd seen a ghost."

"Maybe she hit her head and she's confused," Fili said.

"Or she was confused to begin with," Kili added.

Only Thorin stayed back with the wizard and the girl. As leader, it was his duty to ascertain any threats to the quest or to his company. While the girl did not look threatening at all, he was well aware of how crafty enemies could be.

"My name is Gandalf. Gandalf the Grey," the wizard said, taking a seat on a log near her, but still far enough away to give her space. "You will have to forgive Thorin's behavior. He was merely protecting his company."

The dwarf in question huffed. He was still standing where he was, arms crossed over his chest, staring Mirela down. She shifted uncomfortably under his gaze and tried to avoid making eye contact with him.

"Please, don't tell me you're a wizard," Mirela told Gandalf, eyes moving from his hat to his staff. She had sat down on the ground at the base of the tree. "Please. I'm barely handling the existence of dwarves."

"Very well," he said. "I won't." There was a lighthearted twinkle in his eye, but it did nothing to quell the emotional crisis that she was going through.

"Oh, god," she groaned, placing her head in her hands. Her head was aching and she felt nauseous. She couldn't tell if this feeling was from dehydration, exhaustion, or just finding out that everything she had known about fairytales and folklore, namely the part about them being _myths and fantasies_, was a lie. It may have resulted from a combination of all three.

"Kili," said Gandalf, waving one of the nearest dwarves over. "Water, please."

"Are you going to faint again?" the dwarf, whom she gathered was Kili, asked. She flushed, embarrassed that she had fainted in front of so many people…dwarves. It might have been her imagination, but she thought there was a teasing tone in his voice and it only made her feel more humiliated. Gandalf shot the young dwarf a warning glance. Kili lowered his eyes, feeling slightly guilty from his comment, untied his waterskin, and handed it to the wizard, who, in turn, gave it to Mirela. She eyed it wearily.

"There is nothing wrong with it. Drink—you must be thirsty," Gandalf said.

She unscrewed the cape, sniffed at the liquid inside, and took a tentative sip that quickly turned into a large gulp. She had been thirsty. She hadn't had any water since yesterday morning, assuming she was only unconscious for the one night.

"Why don't we start with your name," the wizard prompted.

"Mirela."

"And where are you from?"

She hesitated, remembering how Robert and Damian had reacted when she told them about her home. Would this man react the same way? Would he consider her crazy and dump her in the woods? "I don't think I should tell you."

Gandalf sighed. "I cannot help you find your way back home if you do not tell me where it is. If you fear for your safety or that of your home, then I assure you, Miss Mirela, no harm will come to you or your family from this company."

"It's not that," she told him. "It's just…I don't know if you'll believe. I'm not sure where I am, but I know this place is like something out of a children's story." _But, hell, this place is crazy enough, who knows if he can actually tell me where my home is?_

The wizard's brow furrowed. He had not expected that. Was she perhaps, implying that she was in a different world? _Impossible_,he thought. _And yet… _He had heard the murmurs of the other dwarves, speculations about the girl's sanity, but he did not believe madness was the answer, as simple of an explanation it was. He would have to bring this to the Council's attention, once they reached Rivendell.

She studied Gandalf's expression. There was confusion, curiosity, but perhaps some belief that what she was saying was true. "I'm from New York City," she said frankly, not sure what else to say. "It's in America…?" There was a slight hope that recognition would show on Gandalf's face and he'd jump up on his wizard legs and proclaim, "Yes, I know exactly where that it."

No such luck. Her answer only puzzled him more.

"I have never heard of such a place," Thorin said, gruffly.

"Yeah, I figured," she said, looking hesitantly over at the dwarf. "Ever since I arrived here, I've found no one who's heard of it."

Her statement pique Gandalf's interest. "You say you arrived here?"

"Well, I don't know how else to put it. I kinda woke up in a clearing a few days ago and I have no clue how I got there."

"What were you doing before then?"

She paused, trying to rack her brain for what she was doing. It seemed so long ago. "I don't know. I was studying for exams the entire week before. I don't remember what happened right before I woke up here."

Thorin turned to the wizard. "Gandalf, you cannot honestly believe what she is saying."

"I'm not lying," she snapped. The dwarf turned his frown to her. She forced down her fear of him as best she could. "And I'm not crazy."

"I have lived long enough to learn how to tell truth from fiction, Thorin," the wizard said. He turned back to the girl. "Still, your story is very strange and sounds impossible."

"I'm not crazy," she repeated, desperate.

The wizard gave her a small smile. "I do not think you are."

He straightened, when Thorin spoke, "There is one other manner to discuss: I must know how you sustained so many injuries."

It was a topic she would have rather avoided. She could still see Robert coming at her from the darkness, the moonlight shining on the blade of his knife and reflecting off his blood in the dirt. "When I first came here, I wandered around, trying to find a road or something that would take me to civilization. I ran into these two men. They tried to hurt me and I got away from them," she concluded simply.

Gandalf could tell it was not the whole truth, but he could also see that it was not something she wanted to talk about. Her explanation, for now, would satisfy him. He only hoped Thorin would be satisfied, too.

Unfortunately, the dwarf wasn't.

"Why were they trying to hurt you?" he asked, obviously suspiscious.

"I don't know," she said, frustrated and nearly throwing her arms up in exasperation. She wanted this interrogation to stop. _Jesus, just leave me alone. _She needed time to herself to think and process everything. "There were criminals. That's kinda what they do."

"And let us leave it at that, Thorin," Gandalf said, quickly, silencing the dawrf's further inquiry. She was beginning to like the wizard, always swooping down to save her. He also seemed like the only person Thorin was going to listen, too, and for that she was grateful. "Do you have any more serious injuries? Oin, our healer, has already cleaned the ones on your arms and face."

She shook her head. _Luckily not_. She wished she had a mirror to see how bad her face looked. She could feel a nasty bruise on her cheek and a cut across her lip. The wizard gave her a nod and left her to her thoughts.

Thorin walked away as well, but not without passing one last distrusting glance toward the girl. He took a seat on a log away from the company, mulling over what he was supposed to do with her. Their quest had only just begun and there were already complications he had to deal with.

Balin approached the would-be king. "Well?"

"I am not sure," Thorin replied. He needed no elaboration from the white-haired dwarf. It was a question on everyone's mind. "She cannot accompany us."

"You cannot, with good conscience, leave her in the wilds. She would surely die," Balin pointed out.

"She is either a danger or a burden we do not need. We already have the hobbit."

"I doubt a girl of her size could pose a significant threat against thirteen armed dwarves." It was Gandalf who had spoken. He stood above the two dwarves. "And if she is indeed a burden, then you shall not be burdened by her for very long. Let her accompany you to next settlement. Ensure the girl is safe before continuing on your quest."

Thorin's frown deepened. "We have already sacrificed enough time on her account."

"But it would be the noble thing to do," Balin advised.

The dwarf prince didn't like it, but Balin and Gandalf were right. It would not be kingly of him to leave a young woman, no matter how confusing or crazy she seems, lost in the wilderness to starve or be killed. Her death would be on his hands and he had enough blood as it was staining him. In addition, the longer they discussed this, the more they would be delaying their quest and their quest took precedence.

"Very well," Thorin said finally, albeit grudgingly. "Get her ready to travel. We will be leaving soon."

* * *

Mirela wasn't sure how she was supposed to feel upon hearing that she was to accompany them. Relieved that they weren't going to ditch her in the woods? Yes. But being around the dwarves and the wizard, frankly, made her uncomfortable. They were proof that she sure as hell wasn't anywhere near New York, which still left her questioning where she was. The wizard hadn't said anything helpful, besides mentioning that she was in a place that was collectively called "Middle Earth". He could have told her she was on the planet Mars and it would have been infinitely more helpful. At least she knew where Mars was in relation to home.

She was staring at the pony in front of her, like it was further adding insult to injury, when the shortest of the little men approached her and introduced himself.

"Bilbo Baggins," the little man said, somewhat awkwardly—he was almost a whole foot shorter than her—"at your service, Miss…"

"Mirela," she answered. "Just Mirela, no 'Miss'. Are you a dwarf, too?"

He looked insulted. "No," he sputtered. "I am a Hobbit."

"Right…" she said, honestly not caring anymore. He could have said anything and it would have fazed her all the same. However, she did notice that, yes, he looked different from the dwarves. He was a lot shorter and slighter, he had pointy ears, and his feet were huge, bare, and hairy. "Well, Mr. Hobbit—,"

"Baggins," he corrected.

"—Mr. Baggins, are we sharing a pony?"

"Ah, yes," he said, a little stammer in his words. She got the feeling that he wasn't used to riding around with a merry band of dwarves, and he was, up until the moment she came along, the odd one out. It made her feel a little better. Maybe she had someone that she could relate to, at least a little bit. "We are the lightest, after all."

He noticed the odd look she was giving the animal. "Do you not like ponies?" he asked.

"I rode a horse once when I was ten," she replied. "It got spooked by a snake and threw me off."

"Oh, you needn't worry about any of that," he assured her. "Myrtle is very calm. Her only vice is she seems more interested in eating than anything else."

Mirela gave out a soft snort and Bilbo felt a little bit a pride from making the girl smile, if only a little bit.

* * *

**I forgot to thank everyone who reviewed last time, so thank you! It makes me feel more confidant in my writing. :)**

**Mirela finally meets the dwarves, Gandalf, and Bilbo. There will be more interaction in the next chapter.**

**Enjoy and let me know what you think.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: Only own my OCs.**

* * *

It was after midday by the time the company resumed their journey, grateful to be back on the road, but displeased with the delay. Their quest, after all, was one of haste.

Mirela shifted uncomfortably on the saddle. It had been almost ten years since she had ridden a horse; her avoidance was the result of an unfortunate accident with one. While the pony was certainly a lot smaller than a horse—therefore making any falls less hazardous—she still felt a little uneasy riding it. She didn't like the bouncing as it walked or the fact that she had no control over it. A pony is nothing like a car. A car won't launch you out when it comes across a snake. Bilbo sat in front of her, holding the reigns stiffly in his hands. Occasionally, he'd fumble trying to make the pony turn with the rest of the group, causing her to step off the trail before he was able to steer her back on track. He neglected to tell Mirela that he was also novice pony rider, but she had already guessed that was the case.

Additional discomfort came from the dwarves, who passed frequent glances in her direction. She tried to ignore them but their curious and suspicious looks made her feel like even more of a peculiarity.

"They are not very subtle, are they?" said Bilbo, quietly so only she would hear. "I've gotten many looks from them, too, on the first days of the journey, though most of them were doubtful. Some still think I'm a burden and I shouldn't be here."

"That sucks," Mirela said.

She didn't need to see his face; she could tell her wording confused him by his tone of voice. "Yes," he said. "I suppose it does…'suck'."

Bilbo also wasn't joking when he said Myrtle loved eating. The pony would stop frequently along the road to munch on grass. Despite Bilbo's pleas for the pony to keep going, she ignored him and did whatever she pleased until one of the dwarves clicked his tongue at her. Only then would she continue trotting along with the rest of the company, much to Bilbo's exasperation. The Hobbit was still fond of her, however, in spite of her disobedience.

* * *

Camp was set up late afternoon. They had only been traveling for a few hours, but Mirela could not wait to get off the pony. There was a mild aching in her thighs from riding, adding the soreness she already felt everywhere else on her body. The first thing she did after helping Bilbo unpack was take a seat on a log, a little isolated from the rest of the group. She unlaced her boots for the first time in almost five days and slipped them off, wincing as pain shot threw her foot. When she pulled back her socks, she noticed, not particularly surprised, large blisters forming on her ankles and bottoms of her feet.

"Awesome," she said. She hoped it wouldn't be much longer before they reached a town so she could get her feet taken care of.

She was slipping her socks back on when she heard footsteps approach her. One of the dwarves was coming near. She guessed he was one of the younger ones; he didn't have as big of a beard (it was more like a peppering of stubble). She wasn't sure how dwarf aging worked, though. He was kind of attractive, all dark haired and brooding looks. She quickly squashed that thought. This was neither the time nor place.

"Can I help you?" she asked.

"I lent you my waterskin," he said.

Right, was this one named Fili or something? It was lying beside her on the log. Thankfully, there was still water in it when she handed it to him. She would have felt guilty if she had drunk all of his water.

He was staring at her strangely, like she was some sort of enigma he had yet to figure out. That thought probably had crossed his mind and the minds of the other dwarves. There were many questions surrounding her: who is she, where did she come from, why was she here, and what was she doing lost in the woods? She could only answer the first two with the utmost certainty. The last two she would chock up to unfortunate luck.

"Take a picture," she said, tired and grumpy, "it'll last longer."

He had never heard such a phrase before. "Pardon?"

She could almost hear her mother's voice in her head, scolding her for being rude. _"Where are your manners, Mirela?"_ She sighed. "Sorry, it's been a long day and I've been feeling kind of off and stressed out."

"I suppose this is all very frightening to you," he said. He was about to leave; she was clearly upset and he never liked dealing with these things.

She went on, "Like, I don't even know what's going on. I feel like I just woke up and my life all of the sudden became Alice in Wonderland, except without tea parties and talking rabbits, there's dwarves and wizards! And I have nothing against you personally, but I'd take Wonderland over this place any day. If I were in Wonderland, I could just wake up and it would've all been this messed, insane dream..." She trailed off, figuring she should just stop her rambling, since he would not have any clue what she was talking about. The dwarf was staring at her, brows furrowed, probably thinking she was the oddest thing he had ever encountered. "Anyway, thanks for the water," she said, slipping on her boots and going off to find Bilbo or Gandalf. They didn't think she was too odd, and if they did, they were kind enough to not let it show.

Kili watched her leave. He blinked, baffled. The girl was certainly a lot stranger than he had originally thought. He later told this to his brother.

Fili turned his attention away from his pipe, frowning. "Did you tell her that?"

He glared. "Of course not. I do possess some tact, brother!" In truth, he probably would have said something of the like if she had not run off so quickly.

The blonde dwarf scoffed. He knew Kill all too well. "There's a reason why you never had any luck with women."

Kili's face went red. There _was_ a reason why dwarf women always flocked to his brother and not to him, but he was certain charm had nothing to do with it.

"She seems to be in a delicate state," Fili continued. "Perhaps you should not point that out to her."

* * *

Sometime after the sun had set and the fire was roaring, Mirela sought out Bofur, finding him having a laugh by the fire.

"Gandalf said you were the one that found me," she said. "Thanks for that."

Bofur grinned, a slight blush forming on his cheeks. It was difficult to see, though, with all the facial hair. "Aye, it was nothing, lass. I couldn't very well leave you all helpless and alone on the ground."

"Well, thanks." Yeah, I guess I was pretty pathetic looking. "Which one is Oin?" She also remembered Gandalf mentioning that he had cleaned up her cuts.

Bofur pointed toward a very old dwarf with a braided and curled beard. She walked up to him while he was busy arguing with a red-haired dwarf. Both dwarves stopped and looked up at her on her approach.

She addressed Oin, "Uh, I just wanted to thank you for cleaning up my injuries."

"Say again? You hurt your knees?" Oin asked loudly.

"You'll have to speak up, lass. He's as deaf as a post," the red-haired dwarf said, pointing to the healer's ear trumpet.

"Thank you for cleaning up my injuries," she repeated, loudly and clearly this time.

Oin gave a loud, boisterous laugh. "Ah! You're welcome, lassie!"

She gave him a forced smile and was on her way back to the area that she decided was where she was going to sleep, a spot more isolated from the group, but Bofur stopped. "Where are you running off to? You haven't got supper yet."

"Yeah, I'm not that hungry." It had been a long day with a lot to process and food didn't seem very desirable to her. She wasn't quite sure how well she'd be able to keep it down.

Of course, the dwarf wasn't having any of that. "Nonsense. You haven't eaten anything but some stale bread all day. You're naught but skin and bones, lass. Besides, no one can turn away Bombur's cooking."

The large, round dwarf in question glowed with pride at the compliment.

"Alright," she relented, reluctantly taking a seat next to friendly-looking dwarf who introduced himself as Ori. "But don't start with that 'you're too skinny' talk. I get enough of that shit from my grandmother."

There was a collective silence among the dwarves as they looked at her with surprise. It didn't immediately register in her head that her word choice may not have been the best to use. But she wouldn't have expected the dwarves to look so scandalized at, in her mind, a minor swear word. She would have laughed at their expressions, especially Bilbo's, whose mouth was gaping open like a fish's in shock.

Instead, she smiled sheepishly and apologized that she had let it slip.

After her mishap, the remaining dwarves introduced themselves. Altogether there were Bofur and Bombur and their cousin Bifur (who was still standing despite have an _axe head_ embedded in his skull); the brothers Dwalin and Balin; Dori, Nori, and Ori (also brothers); Oin and Gloin (brothers, shockingly, and the cousins of Dwalin and Balin); Fili and Kili (Kili, she finally learned, was the one who lent her the waterskin and whom she subsequently embarrassed herself in front of); and, finally, Thorin, but he didn't introduce himself formally like the others had. Her head spun as they explained their relations with each other. How does anyone remember all that and not get any of their names mixed up? She had to hand it to their parents.

After Mirela had gone to bed, bidding them a goodnight with the odd phrase "hit the hay", Bofur spoke, letting wisps of smoke float from his mouth, "She seems like a nice lass. A bit odd, but nice."

"Do not get too used to her," Thorin warned. "She will not be joining us for the entirety of the journey. And be wary what you say around her. She must not know of the quest."

"You think she's untrustworthy?" asked Bilbo.

"This quest relies on secrecy," he said. "The fewer outside the company who know about it, the better." Thorin had also had enough dealings with humans to know to keep a careful eye on the girl.

* * *

The next morning began with dark clouds over head and a light sprinkle of rain. It was a scramble to pack everything away before it started pouring. The bedrolls and blankets were wrapped up as tightly as possible with leather tarps to prevent them from getting soaked. By the time they got on to their ponies, the rain beat down on them, drenching every member of the company.

Bilbo and Mirela were the worse off, neither of them having cloaks that could provide at least some protection from the storm. Their clothes were drenched and their was hair plastered to their skin. Bilbo had forgotten to pack his in his rush to catch up with the company the morning they set off from the Shire while Mirela had been caught unaware when she was whisked away from her home. She hadn't had any time to grab a suitable raincoat.

"Gandalf," called Dori, "Can't you do anything about this deluge?"

The wizard huffed. "It is raining, Master Dwarf, and it will continue to rain until the rain is done! If you wish to change the weather of the world, then you had better find yourself another wizard."

Bilbo perked up. "Are there any?" he asked.

Gandalf turned his head lightly to hear the Hobbit better. "Any what?"

"Other wizards."

He nodded, the tip of his pointed hat bobbing up and down. "There are five of us. Saruman the White is the most powerful in our order. Then, there are the two blues..." He pondered for a moment. "Though, I have forgotten their names."

"And the fifth?"

"That would be Radagast the Brown."

"And is he a great wizard or is he more like you?"

Gandalf paused for a moment, slightly offended at the Hobbit's suggestion. "I think he is a very great wizard," he said. "In his own way. He is a gentle soul who prefers the company of animals as opposed to humans."

"He sounds kinda like a hippy," Mirela commented.

Gandalf frowned, not entirely sure if what she said was meant to be an insult or a compliment.

"So, if you can't change the weather, what can you do?" Mirela asked, curious about the type of magic that people in this world were capable of.

"Oh, I know a few spells here and there," the wizard answered.

She waited for him to elaborate, but after a moment it was clear the wizard was going to remain vague, much to her disappointment.

"His real abilities lie in fireworks," Bilbo said. "The finest fireworks ever seen, in fact. Old Took used to set them off every Midsummer's Eve. They used to go up like great lilies and snapdragons of fire and twinkle in the twilight." His faced grew brighter as he spoke, with reverence, of Gandalf's fireworks.

* * *

The forest opened up finally. In front of them lie large, hilly fields of green grass. Mirela had thought there would be no end to the trees. Of course, the sight would have been better appreciated without the pouring rain. The trees had given the company some shelter against the wind and rain. Now, the storm battered them even more and the wind blew stronger, whipping their cloaks about. Mirela grimaced as the wind bit at her cheeks and the rain blinded her. Her jacket was soaked and stuck uncomfortably to her skin and offered no protection against the cold.

Mirela looked up when Myrtle came to a stop. Up ahead was a large, seemingly impassible river. Gandalf dismounted his horse, followed by Thorin.

"Kili, Fili." Thorin called the two dwarves forward. "Scout up and down the river. We need to find a crossing."

Waiting in the rain for the brothers to return was miserable. They were gone for a while and during that time, rain refused to let up. In fact, Mirela could have sworn that it got even worse.

"I hate the rain," she grumbled.

"To think it will be nearly June," muttered Bilbo, equally as unhappy. "It's nearly tea-time."

At one point, she had tried to take off her jacket with the intent of using it as a shield against the rain. She had gotten it barely passed her shoulders when Bilbo saw and shouted "What're you doing?". The entire company turned to look at her. She felt a blush creep onto her cheeks as thirteen pairs of eyes trained on her.

She explained, "I was going to use my jacket to try to keep the rain off my face."

"Is it common where you're from for women to flounce about in their undergarments?" asked Thorin.

She looked down at her black tank top. The only thing slightly scandalous was a single bra strap peeking out from below the soaked fabric. She said, a politely as she could, to the dwarf, "Well, one, I'm not flouncing, and two, these aren't my undergarments."

Thorin didn't have to say anything to her. One glare from him was all she needed as she slipped the jacket back on and continue muttering complaints about the dampness and cold.

Kili and Fili returned shortly after the exchange.

"There is a spot where we may be able to cross, not far upriver," Kili said. "The water is deep, though, and fast."

"But any farther up, the river is too deep for the ponies and the current is too strong downriver," Fili added.

Thorin had Kili lead the company to the spot he had mentioned, figuring it was the safest bet for crossing the river. The water was nearly chest-deep for most of the company, save Bilbo and Gandalf. Dwalin hoisted Bilbo onto his shoulders, despite the Hobbit's protests. The water would be too deep for him to safely cross on his own; it had to reach at least to his chin. Gandalf would be able to cross with the most ease, seeing as the water level was barely to his hips.

Mirela grasped Myrtle's reins and slowly waded into the water, gasping. The rain was nothing compared to the chilling temperature of the river. She bit her lip to prevent herself from swearing from the cold. If she hadn't been soaked before, she certainly was now.

The rocks below their feet were loose and the current pushed against them. It made Mirela uneasy and fearful of loosing her footing and being swept away down the river. Myrtle seemed to sense her nervousness and the pony became anxious as well. She pulled against the human's grip on her reins while Mirela tried to calm her.

"Shh. It's okay," she said, trying to speak gently but loud enough over the current. She had no idea how to get the pony to calm down. Fili waded back into the water to help, but Myrtle wrenched herself free before the dwarf reached them. The movement made both pony and human lose their balance and fall into the river. The current pulled Myrtle downriver and Mirela grabbed the reins again in an attempt to bring the pony back. She was pulled under the surface and dragged behind the frightened animal.

She rolled under water, unable to tell which way was up or down, holding the reins in an iron grip. Her head finally broke the surface in time for her body to crash painfully against rock. She let out a drowned cry, but maintained her grip on the pony, who was struggling to find her footing against the violent current. The rock had stopped them from moving any farther down the river. Mirela looked around, trying to find away to drag Myrtle back to shore. There was small willow growing on the bank, one of its branches hung over the water. She tried to reach for it, but the current pushed her back against the rock. Her body was becoming numb in the cold water and she barely felt arms winding themselves around her waist.

"Let go of the reins," a voice spoke in her ear. "Fili will get the pony."

She complied, releasing Myrtle. The person behind her kicked against the rock, gaining enough momentum to grab the willow branch. Mirela moved so that she was behind him and held on tightly as he pulled them to the riverbank. Once she felt dirt beneath her, she let go and scrambled the rest of the way on to the bank, coughing up water that had entered her lungs in her trip downriver. She turned her gaze toward her savior.

"Kili," she breathed. Thank god she didn't call him the wrong name.

The dwarf looked up at the sound of his name. "Are you alright?" he asked.

She nodded. "Yeah, I think so, apart from freezing and the huge bruise that I'm going to add to my collection."

His lips curled into a small smirk as he helped her up. She was thankful her feet found purchase on solid, stable ground. There was loud splashing as Fili lead Myrtle safely out of the river.

"You two look like drowned rats," he said as he approached, winded from catching and pulling the thrashing pony back to shore.

"Have _you_ looked in the mirror recently?" Mirela shot back. Swirls of the dwarf's hair stuck to his face and water dripped from his braided mustache. She and Kili faired similarly in appearance.

Kili chuckled and Fili sent her a grin. It was a lame joke, but she felt a twinge of pride at making the dwarves laugh. Her earlier exchange with Kili went forgotten.

The three of them made their way back up the riverbank and found the rest of the company shortly after. Relief flooded Thorin's face when he saw the two dwarves were safe. Soaked to the bone, but safe. It didn't last long and his expression was back to its usual scowl when he turned to Mirela.

"What were you thinking going after that pony?" he demanded.

"I wasn't," she admitted, flinching at his harsh tone.

"Your carelessness almost cost us the lives of two of my company."

"She reacted on instinct, Thorin," Gandalf interrupted, "with the same impulsiveness exhibited by your own two nephews. Why don't you scold them as well?"

_Nephews?_ She looked at Kili and Fili. _Why am I so surprised? Everyone of this freakin' quest is related._

The dwarf's scowl lessened somewhat as he addressed Mirela. "Think before you act next time, child. I will not risk the lives of my kin for your sake." With that, he spun around and walked off to his pony.

She gave Gandalf a thankful look and the wizard nodded in response before attending to his own horse. _Bless you, Gandalf._

Kili's brows knit together at his uncle's outburst. He felt pity for the girl, but didn't say anything. He didn't want his uncle's anger to shift toward him instead. Thorin already had doubts about him and his brother going on the quest in the first place.

The company didn't travel much farther until they reached the end of the hilly meadow and reentered the trees. It was significantly warmer and drier in the forest, now that they were sheltered again from the wind and rain. The rain had died down by the time they found a place to camp and it was a miracle that Oin and Gloin were able to find dry enough wood to start a fire.

Unfortunately, most of the supplies Myrtle was carrying, namely Bilbo's blanket and bedroll, had been lost down the river. Fili had managed to salvage Bilbo's pack, in which the Hobbit had kept his spare clothing, which were now thoroughly soaked. He told Mirela that he would have offered to lend her some of his clothes, since they might have fit her, if they had been dry. Now that that option was gone, Mirela was stuck shaking like a leaf in wet jeans, wishing she had, at the very least, some dry underwear she could put on. She sat as close to the fire as she could, trying to get dry.

She looked up when a blanket was thrust in her face. Kili was offering it to her.

"You're shivering," he said.

"Really?" she asked. "Didn't notice."

He rolled his eyes and she took the blanket from him, wrapping it around herself.

"You're not cold?"

"Dwarves are much hardier than humans. We are able to withstand weather you can't." He took a seat beside her and stared into the fire.

She frowned. Did he mean for that to be a bit insulting? Though, she did consider herself rather wimpy by human standards, at least when it came to cold. She could barely stand New York winters, which were relatively mild when compared to other places. She sighed. She wanted to go home so badly.

Kili went back to his own bedroll, leaving Mirela to her thoughts. She eventually fell asleep with her back against a large boulder, warmed by the fire.

* * *

**Thank you for the reviews. I had some difficulty submitting this. My computer needed to be fixed and FF was being a butt.**

**The rain scene is obviously from the movie. Bilbo's description of the fireworks actually comes from the first chapter of the book and the river scene is also from the book.**


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